Companion Auditions
by castrovalva9
Summary: The Tenth Doctor, currently travelling alone, advertises for a new companion, but finds the quest more difficult than he had anticipated. NO SPOILERS.


Title: Companion Auditions  
Author: castrovalva9  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: none  
Summary: The Tenth Doctor, currently travelling alone (for an unspecified reason; no spoilers), advertises for a new companion, but finds the quest more difficult than he had anticipated.  
Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is property of the BBC.  
Notes: Beta read by Kara MT.  
All of my stories are posted on my LiveJournal, sometimes before they appear on this site. The link is on my profile page, or you can delete the spaces in the URL and go to this address: castrovalva9 . livejournal . com

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"Companion Auditions" 

The Doctor had been working on his latest project for some time. Finally, he was almost finished. He sat back and surveyed the results with satisfaction. He had just created the greatest advert ever, he thought modestly.

His advert read:

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**Wanted: Long-Term Travelling Companion**

All applicants will receive 20 pounds cash just for showing up!  
One day only! Don't miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

MUST:  
-be willing to learn  
-enjoy long walks  
-love to travel  
-follow instructions to the letter  
-work well with others  
-enjoy making new acquaintances  
-be good at improvisation  
-engage in creative problem solving  
-be able to provide a distraction  
-have a high threshold for pain  
-respect one's elders  
-be a good listener  
-be open-minded

Psychic ability, fighting skills, and mechanical aptitude are pluses.  
No knowledge of foreign languages necessary.  
Must pass physical-fitness test.  
Cannot be claustrophobic or xenophobic.  
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With the additions of the address, date, and hours, as well as a few notes in small print at the bottom of the page, the advert was indeed perfection itself.

The Doctor desperately needed a new companion, for one simple reason: His own company was damn boring. He had no one to listen to his ramblings, or to tell him when he was being rude, or to reassure him that he was brilliant. Even he could only talk to himself for so long. However, if he had a companion, he was sure his vague feeling of discontent would vanish.

Seeing that he had first encountered so many of his previous travelling companions on Earth during the 20th or early 21st century, he'd decided to stick with tradition. He had landed in London in July of 1990, and he had prepared well. This time, he was going to hunt for the perfect person. He was tired of companions who wandered off, didn't obey orders, ran too slowly, complained, or otherwise caused trouble that could easily be avoided. He would discover the ultimate companion: a self-motivated self-starter with problem-solving skills.

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The big day dawned. To help settle his nerves, the Doctor checked to make certain he was as ready as he could be. The warehouse was his for the day, the props set up and the TARDIS standing unobtrusively in a corner. The adverts had run as required, and he had a thick stack of banknotes in hand. At 9 a.m. sharp, he flung open the warehouse door and surveyed the results.

A disorderly crowd had formed outside, and it stretched down the pavement as far as the eye could see. The Doctor hadn't dared hope for such an impressive turn-out. Certainly with that many applicants, he would have no trouble finding a perfect match.

"Who's first?" he called, anticipating a progression as orderly as the queue was not. After all, his advert had specifically requested applicants who could obey instructions.

Instead, a flood of clamouring humans stampeded him. Driven back into the warehouse by the crush of people, the Doctor only managed to restore some semblance of sanity by passing out the promised payment to obviously unqualified applicants just so they would leave. In the process, his foot was run over no fewer than three times by wheelchairs, several fights broke out in the crowd, and he even paid a baby in a pushchair, the mother having refused to depart until he did so.

After a harried 15 minutes, the Doctor gained the upper hand and, limping on his abused foot, pushed everyone except the first applicant back outside. A tall brunette named Melisande, she had stood calmly to the side in her overcoat during the earlier chaos. The Doctor turned his back on her while he pinned a copy of his advert on the wall. When he turned around, he blinked and looked again, wondering if his eyes had deceived him.

Melisande, starkers, was posed in front of him, her overcoat pooled on the floor at her feet. "Where do you want me? I have a high threshold for pain, as requested, if you particularly like whips."

"Pardon?" the Doctor asked, averting his eyes.

Melisande stepped closer. "Where, and how, do you want me?"

"Clothed, and somewhere other than here," the Doctor managed to say without looking at her.

He had to repeat this request several times, rudeness increasing in direct proportion to the volume of his voice, before the woman finally took the hint. As Melisande retreated, dressed and with payment in hand to speed her on her way, she snorted, "Why even place the advert, then, if you didn't intend to follow through?"

The Doctor shook his head in amazement at her sheer nerve and lack of reading comprehension, then called for the next applicant. The day had started so poorly, there could be nowhere to go but up.

Come noon, though, he found himself close to admitting defeat. Even at first glance, he had been able to eliminate most of the applicants, such as the little old ladies in wheelchairs, the parents accompanied by their children, young teenagers, and the like. The Doctor had eventually snatched up a biro and scrawled "NO FAMILIES, NO BABIES!" across his advert, but that line didn't stop the nutters from showing up.

And then there were the questions. The stupid, stupid questions.

One man asked, "When you say 'long term,' you mean like a fortnight, right?"

A trio of teenagers wanted to bring their girlfriends on board, for a total of six passengers.

A woman who initially looked deceptively normal ruined the illusion when she opened her mouth and asked if her 19 cats could come with her on the job.

Occasionally, a ray of hope appeared, but it was always soon extinguished. Rob, for instance, turned in a quick sprint and did well on a series of logic problems. However, when it came time to check his obedience, a problem arose.

The Doctor indicated a corner of the warehouse. "Wait here and don't move until I come back."

"Why?" Rob demanded. "Where are you going?"

With a put-upon sigh, the Doctor stalked out of the room without answering. He should have added "No backchat" to his list of requirements. He prepared to wait nearby for 10 minutes, but within three, Rob had left his position without permission. The Doctor could not begin to count the number of catastrophes that had occurred over the centuries when his companions failed to stay where he had left them, so Rob was automatically eliminated from contention.

The Doctor held out more hope for the ensuing applicant, a 20-something blonde named Lucy. She knew what "xenophobic" meant and could walk in a straight line. (His standards had dropped a bit since the beginning of the day.)

Then she uttered the words that shattered him: "You do realise your advert is pretty creepy, don't you?"

"No, is it?" he said in dismay. He had tried so hard and been so pleased with the results.

"Yeah," Lucy continued depressingly, "I really only showed up to collect the 20 quid and leave right away. I thought you were probably casting a porno."

The Doctor remembered Melisande and winced. "That explains a lot. No. No, that is definitely not the case. My motives are very straightforward and innocent. Perhaps you should review my advert before you decide whether to leave." He handed a copy to Lucy and waited, holding his breath.

She skimmed the list and then stared at him. "Not asking for much, are you? Maybe you ought to just get a dog."

"Tried that. He kept breaking down." Adrift in memories of K9, the Doctor suddenly realised that Lucy was eying him strangely and sidling toward the door. He quickly rephrased, "I mean, my ex kept him when we broke up. Every time. Didn't any of them ever think _I_ might have some right to the dog?" Lucy took another step away, and he abandoned the topic. "Anyway, I'm going to see how these auditions go first. Are you ready to try out?"

She shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Right, then." He pointed to a line chalked onto the floor. "Start here and run to that other line over there, fast as you can." As Lucy moved into position, though, the Doctor frowned and held up his hand. "Hold on! What's with the high heels? Didn't you read the entire page?" He jabbed a finger at the small print that read "Wear comfortable shoes."

Lucy pouted. "But your list also says something about making a good distraction, and the heels help accentuate the length and shapeliness of my legs."

There was no arguing with that kind of logic. The Doctor dropped the debate, and Lucy began her sprint. She was remarkably fast despite the handicap of the heels, and he began to feel he might have a real contender on his hands. That hope faded when Lucy's vertical leap failed to meet standards, and it died entirely when she screamed after being asked to hold a python (even though it was a tiny one, just a single metre long). With a sigh, the Doctor peeled a 20-pound note off of his roll and handed it to Lucy with his muttered thanks.

Clearly, he'd left some key requirements out of his advert.

The afternoon wore on with discouraging results. There was Jenny, who nearly drowned in the paddling pool, and Annie, who couldn't pronounce "xenophobic" or define "claustrophobic." Not to mention Scott, whom the Doctor caught idly picking at the paint on the exterior of the TARDIS (that applicant didn't get paid and was lucky he didn't get something else, as well). Nick was quite promising and passed every test, until he fainted at his first step inside the TARDIS. One by one, they all failed, by being too slow, too stupid, too rude, too disrespectful, too something or other.

Finally, the day was over. By any measure, it had been a disaster. The Doctor, thousands of pounds poorer and very much disillusioned, allowed his last few twenties to flutter to the ground. Sadly, he patted the TARDIS and confided, "It's easier just to let them wander in by accident, I suppose."


End file.
